| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i can't sleep because my bed's on fire In the effort to jog memories, etc, I've been reading through this diary, back to the very beginning. There was a point during which I wrote here every day, sometimes multiple times. The girl I see in those entries is a real piece of work sometimes: impulsive and dramatic and somewhat obsessive about things. Depressed a lot. Hyper yet introverted, shy yet ready to go drink and flirt at the bar. It's interesting (to me at least, probably ONLY to me) to see some of the minute details of my life catalogued. What I wore, what I ate, what I listened to, what I was reading. How my co-workers annoyed me. Who I was crushing on. The myriad fights C and I had over nothing. Now I am a middle-lady. Bitchier, for sure, but so much more boring. Less drama. It's not necessarily a bad thing of course - although who doesn't sometimes yearn for that leaping-off-a-cliff feeling that young adulthood brings? Anyway, life in minute detail right now: Lately I'm having serious trouble sleeping. Tossing and turning and cranking the AC because I, don't know, maybe these are hot flashes? Fuck. Exercising a lot because I will be damned if I gain weight while sheltering-in-place. Mostly, I've succeeded in keeping the pounds off, but I sure wish I could lose 10 or 15, too. Eating as healthily as possible. This morning I had Greek yogurt with strawberries and blueberries and a half-cup of Kashi cereal. Lunch was red lettuce and heirloom tomatoes from the CSA box, with avocado and thinly shaved radishes. We just finished the third season of Marcella. Not as good as the first two but still fun. I am reading Ronan Farrow's "Catch and Kill" and it is a damn good read. His writing and reporting reminds me so much of my friend/co-worker at my former paper and it makes me upset (with the world, not with Farrow) that my friend has yet to become a world-renowned reporter/ writer. He's that fucking good, I promise you. I'm listening to a playlist I made that is heavy on the Talking Heads, because what's an end-of-the-world soundtrack without some good vintage first wave dance vibes? I am writing a lot. Trying to piece together this memoir. I've written a lot since last summer as part of a workshop I'm doing. There's still miles to go, but at some point I need to outline it all--figuring out where everything goes because the story doesn't fit a neat chronology. Anyhoo. Did I mention I can't sleep for shit? It's a goddamned drag but OK right now because I don't have a crazy set schedule. When and if we ever return to campus I don't know how I'm going to manage this. Go to bed at midnight; toss and turn until at least 2 a.m. Sleep for a few hours; get up around 8 or 8:30. Work. Nap because I'm exhausted. Lather, rinse and fucking repeat (Yes, I know I should cut out the nap -but even when I don't, I still have trouble sleeping). I'm mostly fine being older and more boring; if only my bed didn't seem like a tortuous mental device half the time. 1:46 pm - 25.06.20
sounds: ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- previously on ... - next time on ...
some days are diamonds, some days are rocks - 07.07.20 - 6:09 pm keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars - 03.07.20 - 7:21 pm bird by bird and all that - 01.07.20 - 12:51 pm see our reflections in the water - 28.06.20 - 1:31 pm in which 2020 Me prepares to bore Future Me - 26.06.20 - 6:35 pm |
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